


You Never Know What You're Gonna Get

by niffizzle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Chocolate, Collaboration, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, NSFW Art, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29439090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niffizzle/pseuds/niffizzle
Summary: Every Valentine's Day, it appeared on her desk. Same time, same wrapping. A single box of chocolates. After four years, there was one wizard that Hermione hoped they were from. On the fifth year, everything changed.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 65
Kudos: 574
Collections: Box of Chocolates





	You Never Know What You're Gonna Get

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Box_of_Chocolates](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Box_of_Chocolates) collection. 



> Thank you massively to [King_Geets](https://www.instagram.com/king_geets/) for their artwork that inspired this story, and another thank you to LadyKenz and kyonomiko for organizing this fest. Additional shoutout to mightbewriting who has to endure me being a nightmare of a writer sometimes while she fixes things up with her killer beta skills.
> 
> Our prompt was: Only one bed/Chocolates
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, everyone, and I hope you enjoy!

The first year, she thought it was a mistake.

The morning had been taxing. Two weeks fresh off a break-up, the last thing Hermione wanted to endure was witnessing her colleagues receive an endless stream of cards, balloons, and flowers. All of it was a stinging reminder that after four years together, she and Ron simply _weren’t._

Which is why she stared at the wrapped present for five straight minutes when it randomly appeared on her desk at half past-two. For a dreaded moment, she feared it was from Ron: a scheduled Valentine’s Day gift he’d forgotten to cancel or an attempt to get back together. But neither of those could be the case. Certainly, Ron hadn’t thought that far in advance, and they had both agreed that being together didn’t make sense anymore. They wanted different things. Yet Hermione didn’t know who else could have sent it. 

The present had no note.

“Have a thing against opening gifts at work?” Malfoy asked, hours later, when he spotted the still wrapped present. 

She rested her quill in an inkwell. “Only the ones that appear without warning, explanation, or any indication that it is actually meant for me.” 

“That gift arrived on _your_ desk,” he stated, as if that was the only explanation she really needed. “Open it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“It could contain something dangerous. Something intended to hurt me,” Hermione answered, having spent half the afternoon asking herself the same thing. “Today would be the perfect day for someone insidious to try and make the most of this ceaseless love showcase.” 

Malfoy scoffed. “And you expect me to believe you haven’t already run the entire gamut of Dark Magic detection spells?”

An instant heat torched her cheeks. Sometimes, Hermione hated how predictable she could be.

He dropped his report on the suspected whereabouts of Augustus Rookwood on her desk. “Just open the present and enjoy whatever’s inside,” Malfoy insisted. “No need to make a big deal out of it. Someone likely saw you moping around the office all day and felt obligated to do something, I don’t know, _nice.”_

Hermione refused to believe she’d been _moping._ It was just unfamiliar to be surrounded by all these reminders of love when she was sorting out how to be single for the first time since Hogwarts. Although, Malfoy did have a point. The _Daily Prophet_ had made sure everyone in Britain with the ability to read knew about her and Ron’s breakup. Perhaps someone really had just been trying to be nice. Besides, people had already started to leave for the day. If anyone had noticed the delivery mistake, surely they would have come to retrieve it by now. 

Malfoy looked at her expectantly as he leaned against her desk far too casually, a clear challenge in his eyes. She caved to her curiosity—not him. 

The neat gold wrapping paper tore easily, revealing a box of assorted chocolates that she had never before seen at Honeydukes. From the box’s label, each chocolate was filled with a mystery flavour—hopefully not as unpredictable and potentially repulsive as a Bertie Bott’s bean. 

“Better alert Robards,” Malfoy mocked once she’d peeled away the wrapping. “Someone sent you a very dangerous present, indeed.”

Hermione peered up at him with a sceptical lift of her brow. “Still no guarantee that they aren’t poisoned. For all we know— Hey!”

Malfoy took off the box lid and welcomed himself to one of the dark chocolates before Hermione could swat his hand away. 

“Unless they’ve somehow managed to disguise the acidity of poison with red wine, you have nothing to fear.” He ate the whole thing in a single bite. “Accept the mysterious gift for what it is and move on with your day.” He returned the lid to its place. “Now if you’re done fussing over nothing, I must be going. Astoria and I have dinner at seven. Try not to eat them all in one sitting.”

—

The second year, she saw an opportunity.

There it was again. Same time, same wrapping. A taunting reminder that Hermione had been so consumed by her transition from criminal analyst to Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement, she hadn’t spared a thought to consider dating while the relationship carousel continued to spin without her.

Ron had proposed to Mandy Brocklehurst last month. Only 347 days after Hermione and Ron had broken up. And five days before the Malfoy-Greengrass engagement was called off. 

And yet, no anonymous chocolates showed up on _his_ desk. Nor on anyone else’s. So there went Hermione’s theory that the present came from someone trying to spread cheer to the single witches and wizards in the department. Someone had purposefully delivered these candies to _her._ Again. 

Hermione tried to concentrate on her work, yet every few minutes, her focus strayed out her office door to the scene beyond. Not at the display of vibrant bouquets and the charmed cupid doll that wisped through the air while he dropped a rainfall of fading red hearts. At Malfoy, who appeared at risk of letting his deeply set scowl carve permanent lines into his face, firmly affixed since the moment he’d arrived.

She grabbed the box of chocolates and strode to his desk.

“You’re moping.”

Malfoy acknowledged her with an unamused huff. He didn’t look up from his parchment.

“Here.” Hermione stretched the box forward after removing the lid to reveal this year’s display of assorted treats. “Take one.”

Slowly, Malfoy lifted his chin just enough so that his slate grey stare found the proffered chocolates. When he peered up further to meet her gaze, the ice from his irises melted—if only an infinitesimal amount.

“And just how can I trust you didn’t poison them?”

Hermione popped one into her mouth. White chocolate with lemongrass and a dash of peppercorn. Not what she expected, but still delicious.

“Is that enough proof?” she challenged. A small smile broke free. “Unless, this year, you’d rather run the Dark Magic detection spells yourself? In which case, by all means, go right ahead.”

A solitary snort cracked his stern demeanour as he set his quill down. Only then did Malfoy reach out and select the chocolate closest to him. From his reaction, the flavour had been another pleasant one, stirring an unexpected satisfaction in Hermione.

It felt oddly nice to be the one who helped bring Draco Malfoy out from his sullen mood. Based on what she’d read in the _Prophet,_ the dissolution of his engagement had been far from amicable, especially after Astoria Greengrass was spotted holding hands with Adrian Pucey in Hogsmeade last weekend. A pang of sympathy pulsed through her veins. She knew the struggle of seeing one’s ex move on with someone new so fast.

Without thinking more about it, Hermione placed the box of chocolates next to his stack of Death Eater activity reports. 

“I think you need these more than me this year.”

She expected him to be grateful, not thin his lips into a disapproving line.

“They’re yours, not mine,” he said, handing the box back to her. “The person who gave them to you surely had a reason.” 

“But—”

“I want you to have them.”

A strange knot twisted her chest at that sentiment, but Hermione didn’t argue further. Instead, she took three of the chocolates and placed them on a conjured napkin.

“For later,” she told him. “Trust me. They come in handy when it’s your first Valentine’s Day after a recent breakup.”

Hermione turned to walk back to her office, satisfied with her attempt to cheer him, when his voice stalled her.

“Hey, Granger.”

“Hmm?”

The light caught a subtle gleam in his gaze. “You deserved better than Weasley anyway.”

—

The third year, she secretly looked forward to it.

Except, at 2:30, the present didn’t appear.

Hermione tried not to be disappointed. There was no reason to expect the chocolates would come again. She didn’t even know why they’d come the past two times.

Work responsibilities only semi-successfully kept her mind from fixating on the lack of sweets. Those thoughts didn’t fully slip from consciousness until knuckles knocked against her door frame and Malfoy stepped through the opened threshold.

“Here are the arrest files on Mulciber and Rowle,” he said as he handed her two scrolls. “They’re on their way to Azkaban now.”

Hermione took hold of the parchments. “Impressive. These are already your fifth and sixth arrests for the year.”

“It’s my job and my duty,” was all he said in return. The same six words he always said whenever Hermione commented on his role since the war—even if serving as an informant on Death Eater activity had started as a stipulation to avoid Azkaban. But that legal obligation ended nearly half a decade ago. 

Apparently, Malfoy was determined to finish what he’d started. Hermione had originally assumed he would retreat to the privacy of Malfoy Manor the moment the Wizengamot determined his debt to society paid. Years later, he was still here, working to locate and arrest the people he had once fought beside.

Hermione had to admit: she rather respected that about him. 

“Goldstein hasn't delivered anything yet?”

Hermione blinked herself back to the present when she heard Malfoy’s question.

She felt the pink tinge heating her cheeks. “Oh, we, uh, we broke up.”

Hardly anyone knew. Only her closest friends and, presumably, Anthony’s. The fact that they had managed to avoid it from being plastered over the _Daily Prophet_ headlines had been the highlight of Hermione’s year so far.

She couldn’t explain why she had felt compelled to add Malfoy to the list of those who knew. 

His eyes widened at the news, taking him by surprise just like everyone else she had told. For some reason, people seemed to think Anthony was going to be “the one” for her. After all, they were both intellectual individuals who always engaged in stimulating conversations. On paper, it was a perfect fit. Yet Hermione had always felt like something was off. _Missing._

When the initial shock faded, Malfoy’s lips curled into an amused grin. “You and I don’t have a good track record for this time of year, do we?”

“No, I suppose we don’t.” The ease of his remark dissolved any hesitation Hermione had for sharing that part of her personal life. “Hopefully, things aren’t as bleak for you this year. Unless you had another soul-crushing, broken-off engagement that I missed?”

“Thankfully not. And preferably, never again,” he returned. “I wouldn’t wish that agony on my worst enemy.”

“Not even Harry?”

He chuckled. “From what I hear, he and Weasley are still quite happy together, so I don’t think he’s at risk.”

“It’s doubtful,” Hermione agreed. “As for us, though, maybe we’ll both have better luck next Valentine’s Day.”

Her smile dimmed when Malfy stiffened.

“Actually, I have a date tonight.”

_Oh._

She didn’t know why she had assumed Malfoy was still single. Even she could admit he was an attractive wizard. Of course he wasn’t spending another Valentine’s Day alone.

That part made sense. The resulting pit in her stomach didn’t.

“So who’s the lucky witch?” she asked, ignoring that feeling. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. 

“Sue Li.” 

By the grace of Godric Gryffindor, Hermione somehow managed to conceal her stunned astonishment. It was not a name she expected him to say.

Sue Li was half-blood. 

Despite everything he had done the past several years, Hermione had always assumed Malfoy would still marry another pureblood witch, even if she wasn’t Astoria Greengrass. Helping imprison others for their prejudice-inspired crimes was one thing; actually applying new beliefs in oneself was another thing entirely.

“I didn’t realise you two were dating,” was all Hermione said in the end.

“It’s... new,” Malfoy answered. “This is only our third date. We met at Carmichael’s New Year’s party.”

Hermione moved around the parchments on top of her desk so she didn’t have to look at him. She prayed to whatever founder that would listen that her cheek colour didn’t betray her resolve to appear indifferent. “Anthony and I discussed going but didn’t. He said Eddie was too pretentious for his liking.”

“As if all those other Ravenclaws aren’t?”

“Says the wizard who’s now dating one.”

He paused.

“Nothing’s official yet.”

That statement shouldn’t have affected Hermione the way that it did.

Hermione made an excuse about needing to get back to work, to which Malfoy said he ought to do the same. He assessed her desk one last time before meeting her gaze with a gleam she only recalled seeing in his eyes one other time—a year ago to the day.

“Shame you didn’t come to Carmichael’s party. It would have been nice to see you outside of work hours.”

He exited her office before she could formulate a response.

Less than an hour later, a wrapped box of chocolates appeared. 

—

The fourth year, she was determined to figure out who they were from.

Worse, she now had someone she hoped was sending them—even if she refused to truly acknowledge that feeling.

Paperwork piled on her desk, different proposals demanding her approval or documents requiring her review. Yet Hermione’s attention laid on the parchment in front of her: a list of everyone in the department. One by one, she considered each name and calculated the perceived likelihood that they were her mysterious gift-giver. Not that she had many leads. The only clue of any actual value was that the chocolates had arrived the past three years, meaning the giver had to be someone who had been working at the Ministry over that time.

That didn’t eliminate many choices.

He remained a possibility.

At twenty-past two, Malfoy’s knock pulled her from her thoughts. She slipped her list under a pile of unaddressed parchments and called him inside.

Stupid, attractive Malfoy. Who was damn good at his job and annoyingly ever-present in her life. 

It would have been easier to continue their passing niceties without thinking more of it when she still assumed he planned on marrying a pureblood. Circumstances had only gotten worse after he was promoted to Lead Dark Arts Specialist. Now, Malfoy sat in on almost every meeting Hermione had and even joined for happy hours at the end of the work week. 

She hadn’t heard another word about Sue Li since last Valentine’s Day.

“Something I can help you with?” Hermione asked, cutting straight past the small talk.

“Is it a crime to come say hi to a friend?”

Right. _Friend._ Because at some point over the past year, she and Malfoy had formed something akin to friendship.

The temperature in her cheeks remained unchanged: a skill Hermione had mastered after quite a bit of practice over the last several months.

“Lucky for you, it’s not. Otherwise, I would have had to file a report calling for your arrest ages ago.”

Malfoy chuckled, sliding into one of the chairs opposite her desk. Hermione willed her cheeks to remain neutral. He hardly ever stayed more than a few minutes.

His eyes scanned her desk. “No anonymous chocolates this year?”

_2:26._

“Not yet,” she said. Her pulse pounded faster.

Did he know what time they usually came? Though, admittedly, it was hard to call something usual when there were only three data points to consider.

“Shame. I was hoping for something to sweeten my day,” he returned with one of his rare, pleasant smiles. Not cocky or sarcastic. Genuine. The type that softened his features and brightened his presence—the pure opposite of what she used to face during their childhood. The type she’d only ever seen him direct towards her.

Not that it meant anything. Hermione couldn’t know how he smiled when she wasn’t around.

“If you’re truly in need, there are plenty of other people who received sweets today,” Hermione said so her thoughts didn’t spiral. “When I passed through the office a few minutes ago, Kira Langwood had just received an entire chocolate fountain, including a buffet of dipping options. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?” His smile morphed into something smug. “I’ve learned I’m quite fond of the mystery with yours.”

Hermione fought a scoff. Funny. She felt the opposite.

Malfoy leaned back in the chair, his stupid, charming smile still plastered across his stupid, attractive face. “Come to think of it, I believe you and I are due for a celebration this year.”

She wished she could say her heart didn’t jolt at that suggestion. 

“And just what, pray tell, would we be celebrating?”

“Our mutual avoidance of breakups this year, of course.”

An involuntary huff left her lips. “Avoiding a breakup requires being in a relationship first.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t celebrate.” His smile found a way to grow even broader. “Say… dinner? Tonight?”

Her heart lurched, right as a pop cracked the air and a gold wrapped box appeared on her desk. 

_2:30._

Right on time.

Malfoy smirked. “Unless you already have a date with your elusive candy conferrer?”

Confidence surrounded him, as if he was certain of her answer. Had it been three days ago, she would have jumped to say yes to dinner. Merlin, she still wanted to. Desperately.

Except, she already had plans.

Her gaze fell to the present. “I’m getting dinner with Roger Davies.”

His facade crumbled, smile slipping into a frown.

“I thought you just said you weren’t in a relationship.”

“I’m not,” she said, hating every word on her tongue. “He just… he asked me out earlier this week, and I said yes.”

“To a first date on Valentine’s Day?”

Her stomach knotted. Is that not what Malfoy had just proposed for them?

But then again, he had not said it was a date. Just a celebration of two single individuals. Of course he hadn’t intended for it to be romantic.

She forced a fortifying inhale. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t.”

Malfoy straightened. “I suppose not.”

Pulsing blood echoed in Hermione’s ears as they sat in silence for Merlin knew how many seconds. It couldn’t have been more than a handful. Ten at most. Yet it felt like a thousand.

When Malfoy broke their stare, he glanced down at the untouched present before looking back at her without a single glint in his gaze.

“Enjoy your date.”

That night, when the stars were out and the restaurants were closed, Hermione swiped away tears as she finished the entire box of chocolates, wondering what her evening could have looked like if she had said yes to the other dinner instead.

—

The fifth year, Valentine’s Day went nowhere near as planned.

The plan had been solid. Someone needed to represent the British Ministry at the semi-annual European Magical Law Enforcement meeting. Hermione had simply suggested herself as that representative. The fact that the meeting just so happened to fall on February 14th was a fortuitous coincidence.

No enduring everyone else getting gifts, no wondering who the chocolates came from, and no seeing _him._

Or so Hermione thought.

She hadn’t anticipated that the British Ministry would send two representatives. And she most certainly hadn’t anticipated that their Portkey home would activate a full hour early and without them present.

As soon as the Irish Ministry reopened tomorrow morning and they obtained a new International Portkey home, Hermione was going to barge into the British Ministry and have a stern conversation with whoever at the British Portkey Office thought Dublin was somehow in a different timezone as England.

But first, she had to survive tonight. 

In a hotel room. 

With Malfoy. 

And only one bed.

Damn, stupid Valentine’s Day and happy couples occupying every other room at the sole hotel in all of Wizarding Dublin. This would be the last and _only_ work trip Hermione ever went on without bringing a Muggle credit card.

Snow drifted to the ground from beyond the grey curtained windows as they prepared for an early slumber. There was a limit to how many hours Hermione could be in the same small space with him before sleep became the only escape from the internal torment. 

Over the past year, she had mastered masking the feelings that lingered in her veins: always there, affecting every part in her system whenever she so much as looked at him. Worse yet, Hermione had never shaken the curiosity of how things might have been different had she gone to dinner with him last Valentine’s Day instead of sticking to her failed date with Roger Davies. The irony that she and Malfoy had eaten dinner together this year hadn’t been lost on her—even if that dinner had been mediocre room service and neither one actually acknowledged it out loud. 

When Hermione finished brushing her teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste they’d purchased from a store on Greenwitch Alley, she stalled in the washroom’s door frame. Not at the sight of Malfoy in low-hanging flannel pyjamas and a thin white t-shirt—though that certainly didn’t help. At the pile of conjured pillows collected on the carpet.

She stared at Malfoy as he arranged the pillows into a rectangle. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Her stomach fell at the bluntness of his statement. “Just because the furniture is protected with anti-transfiguration spells doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable all night. We’ll just… sleep on opposite sides.”

Malfoy didn’t look at her as he charmed a blanket over the makeshift mattress. “Take the bed, Granger. Auror training prepares us for uncomfortable sleeping quarters.”

“For stakeouts and other necessary situations! Not—”

“I’m not sleeping in that bed with you, so I recommend you drop the argument.”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s face too quickly for her to control. Malfoy knew better than to think she’d drop an argument just because he said so. Determination outweighed her embarrassment, even if sharing a bed with him was far from how she pictured ever spending her Valentine’s Day.

Or at least, not like this.

She whipped out her wand and conjured a second set of pillows.

“What are you—”

“I’m sleeping on the floor, too.”

_“Granger.”_

“Last I checked, I have just as much claim to this carpet as you do," she challenged. "But if you have a problem with sharing the floor with me, then be my guest and take the bed yourself.”

Frustration flared in his storm grey eyes as he released a huff. “You’re free to do whatever you want, Granger. I have no say in your life choices.” 

He tugged the edge of his blanket, and Hermione quickly flung a charmed pillow at his back.

Her arms were already folded firmly across her chest by the time Malfoy whipped around to face her.

“What was that for?” he scowled.

“You’re incredibly stubborn, you know that?”

He picked up the pillow and threw it back at her. “Coming from you? That’s like calling the cauldron black.”

“At least I’m aware of it,” she quipped. “But you’re being ridiculous. There’s a perfectly nice bed going to waste here.”

“Nothing’s stopping you from sleeping in it.”

“Nor you!”

Malfoy scoffed. “Yes, there is, so would you end this inane debate you seem insistent on having and just _drop it?_ Because I am _not_ getting in that bed with you.”

At the sting of his words, the temperature in her cheeks reached a new peak. “And why not?”

A deep frown creased his lips. “I don’t need a reason.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione fumed, rational thought falling to the wayside as her emotions took over. “I _know_ you, Malfoy. You have a reason for everything you do, just like me. Yet you don't see _me_ complaining. I’m perfectly willing to endure sharing a bed with you, just for a night, even if I—”

Her words dropped away before the inadvertent admission slipped out.

It was too late. Malfoy had noticed.

The intensity of his stare bore straight into her. “Even if what?”

“Nothing,” Hermione tried to dismiss, brain taking back control as her heart pounded frantically. “You were right. Let’s just forget it and go to bed.”

She moved to pull out her wand and conjure her own blanket when a tight grip grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him.

Her chest ached when she looked up to see Malfoy staring at her, his eyes locked directly with hers.

“Even if _what?”_

“I—”

Hermione tried to form words, but her tongue failed her. She was fixated on how close he was, the white t-shirt leaving the thinnest barrier between her and the pounding heart she felt beating against her own. 

The proximity ate at her. This was too close. Too much. She couldn't take it. Not when he didn't feel the same. 

Her mouth ran dry as she stepped out from his grasp, locking away her feelings for him to never know.

“We don’t have to share our reasons.”

She turned from him, determined to forget this whole conversation ever happened, when a pop cracked the air and something appeared on top of the bed.

A present.

In a box.

Wrapped in gold paper.

The same she'd seen every year the past four years.

Hammering heartbeats nearly cracked her ribcage as she stared at the box, lips agape in disbelief.

_It couldn’t be._

When she whipped back around, the entire room fell from focus except for the wizard staring straight at her.

“You want to make this difficult? Then fine, I'll go first,” he said, determination set in his eyes. "There you go. _That’s_ my reason.”

Hermione stood in front of the bed, stunned speechless. She gaped at him, glanced at the present, then back to Malfoy.  
  
Last year, she had hoped for this. But now, it felt unbelievable. After their conversation last Valentine's, she dismissed her desires as a baseless wish sparked from longing rather than reality.

Except, it really _had_ been him.

"Why?" came the sole syllable she could manage.

He adverted his gaze, though not before Hermione caught a glimpse of the conflict painting his features.

"I started off only wanting to do something nice after I had made your life miserable for all those years," Malfoy explained, words tight as he spoke. "And then that second year, I thought you could use another dose of cheer after the news about Weasley's engagement. But when you came to my desk to offer some to me..." He hung his head and shook it. "No one else in the department had even acknowledged what had happened between me and Astoria.”

The walls of her throat were thick as Hermione swallowed. "Then the next year... you weren't going to send them, were you?"

Malfoy didn't answer that one, but Hermione could deduce easily enough. The chocolates only came after she told him that she and Anthony were no longer dating.

Which only left last year, when the chocolates had arrived back on schedule. 

The exact moment after he had asked her to dinner.

Merlin, how had Hermione not connected it before?

Maybe her hope hadn't been rooted in a baseless wish after all. 

She held her breath as she prayed she wasn't wrong. "So last year..."

“I planned on telling you. At dinner. When it was just the two of us. But when you said you were going to dinner with Davies instead—”

“I would have rather gone on a dinner date with you.”

She hadn’t intended to say the word date. In her muddled emotions, it had slipped out. But as soon as the word left her lips, a spark replaced the fog in his gaze, and Hermione didn't regret it one bit. 

He lifted an eyebrow, cautious optimism reflected on every plane of his features. “A dinner date, you say?”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Only if that’s what you also want.”

He laughed in disbelief. “Fucking hell, witch, it’s the only thing I’ve wanted the past three Valentine’s Days.”

At once, his lips found hers, and everything else faded from consciousness besides the feel of his kiss. She had never dared let herself picture what it would be like to actually kiss him. It had always felt like a far-off possibility. Two people whose timings never aligned or whose feelings for each other never quite matched. But right here, with his lips pressed against hers and his fingers burrowing in her hair, it was better than anything Hermione could have imagined. 

Hermione gripped his shirt to bring his chest flush against hers as she moved back towards the bed. When she landed on the edge, Malfoy caged her with his arms as he leaned in so his torso was above her, guiding her down until her back was flush with the mattress. 

“I didn’t plan on giving them to you this year,” he said between kisses. “Thought after last year that you would never feel that way about me.” She gasped as he moved forward, his hips pressed against hers. “But I bought them anyway. Couldn’t help myself.”

Hermione slipped her tongue across the seam of his lips, unable to resist a moan as his mouth opened. Her fingers scratched his scalp as she dug them through his hair, needing him ever closer. Now that they were doing this, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

His lips left hers, only to place scattered kisses along the column of her throat, eliciting a strangled gasp when he found the sensitive skin just below her jaw. “Tell me this has been driving you mad, too,” he growled against her ear. 

Her breathing hitched when he nipped her skin. “Yes,” she panted. “But I thought you didn’t mean anything by the dinner invitation.”

“Then we’re both fucking idiots.”

Urgent lips crashed back into hers while his hands found the hem of her sleep shirt, breaking their kiss only long enough for the fabric to slip over her shoulders. Long, slender fingers traced up and down her skin, and Hermione keened at his touch. He nudged her farther up the bed before taking his own shirt off, revealing his strong chest and broad build. 

She breathed in deep. _This was really happening._

Piece by piece, the rest of their pyjamas piled on the floor where scattered pillows laid forgotten. The bra straps fell easily off Hermione’s shoulders while Malfoy unhooked the clasp, revealing her breasts to the cool air. She heard him suck in a breath as he rolled his thumb over the nipple, sending a wave of need through Hermione’s core as she bucked into him. His other hand trailed downward and pushed aside the fabric of her knickers so two fingers ran across her slit.

“Merlin, Granger,” he gasped. “You’re soaked.”

His fingers pushed inside her as she arched off the bed. It had been too long since she had done this with someone. But the wait was worth it to feel herself wrap around him. Even just this.

She reached out and found the elastic of his boxers, only pausing when a new wave of heat pulsed through her at the feel of his fingers swirling over her clit. A moan escaped her lips, and Malfoy covered it with a kiss as they both peeled away the final layers of clothing. 

Malfoy was, unsurprisingly, fit, with pale scars stretched across his torso. She held her breath as she tracked the longest one, spanning from under his left pectoral down to below his belly button. And there, just where the scar ended, stood the impressive evidence of his arousal, glistening with desire and anticipation.

She peered back up at Malfoy, whose eyes were already trained on hers. He searched her face, much like he had just a few minutes earlier, but he was no longer looking for answers. Illuminated by a crack of moonlight, his eyes blazed with want and the need for one last thing: _permission._

Her teeth grazed the inside of her lip as she nodded. She wanted this more than she could put into words.

“You sure?” he asked, eyes still searching hers. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I’m sure, Malfoy.” She took his length into her hands. _“Draco.”_

 _“Fuck,”_ he rasped before his lips slammed against hers.

They explored each other with ardent need. One hand ran along his bare chest while the other circled around his throbbing cock, giving it several strokes. With two fingers focused on her heated core, pleasure mounted inside Hermione as Draco palmed her breast with his other hand. And when their desire grew urgent, he rolled them over so Hermione rested on top of him as he lined himself with her entrance.

Paired groans filled the hotel room. They took it slow as, inch by inch, Hermione sank down on his length, body moulding around him. Eyelids closed, her lips parted with a sharp intake of breath. The feel was perfect, and Hermione knew then that she could never have enough of this wizard. 

When he entered her completely, a desperate plea escaped her lips. She was fuller than she could ever remember with any other wizard, but she still needed more. Needed to move. 

Her head fell to his chest and she shifted her hips, feeling his length press inside her. They started slow, letting Hermione adjust, before finding a steady rhythm. Gasping moans turned into pleading breaths as ardent satisfaction heightened with every kiss, touch, and thrust. 

“More, Draco,” she cried, words muffled against his skin. “I need—”

His thumb swiped her clit, and climax crashed over Hermione. Stars scattered and danced across her blackened vision. Wave after wave of sweet release tingled every inch of her body, right before Draco found his own completion buried deep inside of her.

Energy spent, Hermione collapsed on top of Draco and his warm skin. When the heady, blissful aftermath started to fade, Draco kissed the top of her head before he unsheathed himself and shifted her onto the mattress. Heavy breaths passed between them, though nothing could block her smile, nor his.

Not cocky or sarcastic. _Genuine._ The smile Hermione liked best on him.

Draco turned on his side to face her better. “I must say, that's not how I expected this trip to go,” he said as he tucked a few curls behind her ear. “When I asked Robards to grant me special permission to attend today’s meeting, it was because I couldn’t imagine _not_ seeing you on Valentine’s Day, even if just platonically.”

Hermione snorted. “I think we’re far past the point of platonic now.”

"Good." He leaned in and kissed her. "Though I must say, this does complicate this year's addition to our Valentine’s Day saga.”

Hermione wrinkled her brow. “How so?”

“First year, you had a breakup; second year, me. I had a dinner date, then you. We’ve had an interesting pattern the past four years. But now comes the tricky part: do we call this the year neither of us had dates or the first year that we finally got to call each other Valentine?” 

A newfound warmth blossomed inside Hermione’s chest. “The first year?”

Draco smirked. “You can’t seriously think I’m spending another Valentine’s Day without you. Who else would I send anonymous chocolates to?”

Hermione swatted his chest, though the feeling of elation never dwindled. 

She kissed him again. She had a feeling she’d be receiving a lot more gold wrapped chocolate boxes for many years to come.

~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are much appreciated and bring all the joy 💙
> 
> Until next time, chat with me on Tumblr ([niffizzle](https://niffizzle.tumblr.com/)) 
> 
> Find the artist, King_Geets on [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/king_geets/) and [Tumblr](https://king-geets.tumblr.com/)


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